


The Man Made of Love

by ffonippop



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Art appreciation, Brief mention of homophobia, Confrontations, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Geralt is in love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, and i give him an outlet to work out his problems because idk i want him to be happy, and its adorable, geralt is sad but happy for jaskier, geralt keeps a diary, geralt of rivia is emotionally repressed, husbands uwu, idk man i dont really know how to tag, its eventually because geralt has to pine first, jaskier is full of love, just my boys being in love, they try as best they can, they're in love, they're just idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffonippop/pseuds/ffonippop
Summary: "There's not a single soul in the universe incapable of producing art."That was what Jaskier had told Geralt when he gave the Witcher a blank journal, advising him to create his own art.Geralt does what he's advised, and what better inspiration for his poetry and prose than the man made of love himself — Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, geraskier - Relationship
Comments: 94
Kudos: 738





	The Man Made of Love

**Author's Note:**

> fGZGSGZZ guys i worked hard on this 👉👈 please enjoy thamk ily 😌🌼

Jaskier was a lover of the finer things in life.

He was a lover of sickly sweet romances, of expensive chocolates and lovely company to share them with. He was a lover of late night conversations, of simple things described dramatically. A lover of the arts, and a lover of song. A lover of adventurous books and homoerotic subtext. A lover of buttercups and dandelions and vague references to things only a select few understand. 

But best of all, Jaskier was a lover who could not control where his heart took him.

A lover who romanticized the most simple of poetry, who dramatized the most dull of prose.

A lover who loved, above anything else, to love. 

He was a lover in the extreme, and that was exactly why Geralt had loved him so much. 

There were times like this where the Witcher lied awake at night, curled up to his side in his bedroll with the company of no one but the bard and a fire, just staring at Jaskier plucking the strings of his lute as if they needed adjustment. They never did. They were always perfect. To Geralt, at least. 

During these times, Geralt often watched lazily as Jaskier worked, the Witcher's heart full of love but oh-so heavy, because Jaskier was a lover who deserved to be loved just as ferociously as he did.

Jaskier was a lover in motion, a man who gave and gave and always got less of what he gave in return. 

And Geralt was afraid that the love he had for the bard couldn't compare to the love that others could provide. He was afraid that Jaskier, who loved like it was breathing, wouldn't need Geralt's love. 

In simple terms, Geralt was afraid he would never be enough. 

From the other side of the fire, Jaskier played a jaunty little tune Geralt hadn't heard yet and cursed softly under his breath. 

"That was a sour note," Jaskier muttered quietly, writing something down on his leather bound journal before repeating the tune again and nodding at the second take. "Better, not best."

The Witcher grinned. 

He lived for nights like this. Where everything was quiet and the only sound that signified the world was still turning was the plucking of strings and repeating of melodies coming from Jaskier's lute. 

He almost didn't notice Jaskier match his grin, tilting his head in question at Geralt's smile.

"What are you grinning at?" Jaskier asked, voice thoroughly amused. 

Geralt shrugged as best he could lying on his side. He kept the grin on his face. "It's a nice tune," he replied, not as an answer, but as a compliment. 

Jaskier lit up brightly. "You like it? Planning to detail our latest adventure in song. I think I'll call it _Sailor's Delight._ "

Geralt snorted. "Hardly a fitting title for a song about Drowners, Jask."

Jaskier only smirked. "Misnomer." He uttered the word proudly, like it was a secret he had been entrusted with. 

"Misnomer?" Geralt parroted, raising an eyebrow. 

Jaskier played a sweet harmony on his lute and nodded matter-of-factly, his proud smile almost glowing as he confirmed, "Misnomer."

Geralt chuckled under his breath. "Are you going to tell me what that is?"

The bard tapped his chin for a moment as if to think long and hard on whether or not he should tell Geralt, but he seemed to make up his mind as he repeated the sweet melody and spoke. 

"It's a literary device," Jaskier explained, and for a brief moment, Geralt was reminded that the gaudy man used to be a professor, what with the inviting, educator's smile Jaskier suddenly brandished. "And, my dear, it means to give something a name that is incorrect." 

Geralt rolled his eyes fondly. "What did you study in Oxenfurt again?"

Jaskier mimicked the eye roll. "My dear, you don't need to study literature to know literary devices. Especially not if you're a poet like me." Jaskier gestured wildly on the air, like he was presenting himself. "You need to know prose before you know poetry."

Geralt laughed. "Poetry is just prose but with more spaces between the words," he reasoned, amused. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes again, a daze of cornflower blue and youthful joy. "Poetry can be whatever your soul wants it to be." And he lit up, like an idea had struck him upside the head.

Quickly, Jaskier set his lute aside, setting the journal he'd had on his lap on top of the instrument and tucking his pencil behind his ear. Geralt watched, entertained, as Jaskier rummaged through his pack and pulled out a new leather bound book. 

He tossed it to Geralt, who caught it easily. Geralt flipped through the book expecting Jaskier's messy artist handwriting and usual sketches of wildflowers, but found it completely blank. Geralt arched an eyebrow. 

"An empty book," he stated dryly. 

Jaskier tossed him a pencil. "Not for long!" The bard sat back down and reclaimed his lute. "You should write in it."

Geralt blinked. "I should?"

"Yes, you should." Jaskier sounded ecstatic at the thought. "Poetry, prose, song — whatever you want! Write it _all_ down, or, well, whatever you find the need to write down."

Geralt blinked again. "Why?" 

Jaskier laughed. "Because you can! Gain a deeper understanding of yourself, or whatever. Gain a deeper appreciation for the arts, even."

"The arts?" Geralt repeated dumbly. 

"Yes, the arts."

"Witchers can't make art."

Jaskier groaned exasperatedly at the sentence, faking a gag like he was physically sick by the sound of it.

"There you go again, with your 'Witchers can't do this' bullshit." Jaskier fixed him with a stare, unafraid, unmoving, defiant, and absolutely feral. "Art is around everything, Geralt. There's not a single soul in the universe incapable of producing art." Jaskier paused, and as an afterthought, he added, "Except maybe Valdo Marx."

Geralt snorted. "If art can be anything, then my art stays in my head."

Jaskier shrugged, getting back on his lute and playing a few swift notes as he spoke. "Suit yourself. I'm just sentimental, I suppose. I'm full of love, and someone like me needs to let it out every once in a while."

Jaskier hit a note he didn't like and wrinkled his nose, opening his journal and writing in it again. He winked at Geralt as if to share a secret and gestured to his book. "See? Even now, doing nothing, I'm too full of love."

And Geralt couldn't respond to that. He let out a small hum and let his eyes fall to the blank notebook in his hand, tossed to him a mere moments ago by the man he loved, the man full of love.

He waited until the fire dimmed and Jaskier turned in for the night. He waited until the soft snoring of Jaskier could be heard from the bedroll a couple feet away. He waited. And waited. And waited. And he opened the journal and wrote.

> _**mis·no·mer**_ / _misˈnōmər_ /
> 
> _To give something a name that is incorrect_

And under that, Geralt drew a flower. It was terribly sketched and almost childish-looking, especially compared to Jaskier's sketches, but he allowed it to exist within the first page of his journal. Geralt sighed to himself before he allowed himself the luxury of writing again.

> _A lover full of love, and a monster made of magic with not nearly enough to give._

* * *

It had been six months since he'd been given the book, and now, the book had become something of Geralt's most prized possession.

He'd never let anyone else near it, of course, but sometimes, our most loved valuables stayed a secret. And that was what the journal was — a secret. A loved one, but a secret nonetheless.

Any time Jaskier had taught him something new, something sweet, something only a creature made of love would know, Geralt would write it down, and under it, he'd draw a flower — often, it was a dandelion, sometimes, it was a buttercup — and under the flower, he'd write his thoughts. 

Even without knowing about the journal, Jaskier seemed to sense how happy Geralt became any time he taught the Witcher something new, and it had become an unspoken ritual between the pair to have Jaskier speak about something late at night and have Geralt listen closely, trying to secretly memorize everything the bard was saying. 

Their ritual wasn't always nightly, though. Sometimes, they were just too occupied for their nightly lessons, and so, some pages in Geralt's crowding book stayed empty to be filled another day.

Tonight was starting to become one of those days. 

Geralt had turned in for the night to a room at an Inn after Jaskier had excused himself, leaving to give his love to a man he'd met while drinking. Geralt had been jealous, of course, but he understood. 

Jaskier was full of emotion, and he had to give some away sometimes. To strangers, to members of royal families, to married men and women alike. Jaskier was full of feelings, more than enough for everyone he fell in love with. 

Geralt had fully expected a page of his journal to stay empty just like the second bed in the room was to be tonight, but just as he was about to sink into the bed furthest from the entrance, the door to his room slammed open, revealing a very _pissed off_ Jaskier.

"Legato!" Jaskier exclaimed, seething with fury as he spat out the word. Geralt watched with confusion and concern. 

"Legato?" 

Jaskier nodded vigorously.

"Legato!" He confirmed, voice fierce as he angrily took off his traveling boots and threw them across the room.

"It's a music thing, and it means, my dearest Witcher—" the words were full of venom, not necessarily directed at Geralt, but directed at everything in general "—that the notes you're going to play on your instrument are to be played in a smooth! Flowing! And connected! Manner!"

With every punctuated word, Jaskier stomped towards the second bed in the room, stomping closer and closer until he hit the last word and jumped onto the bed, pulling the thin sheets over himself and sniffling an angry, "Goodnight!"

Geralt blinked. A silent pause encased the room before the Witcher inhaled, gathering up his courage, just enough so he could ask, "What happened to you?"

From under the bed sheet, Jaskier grumbled angrily. "Let's just say, my night is not going very _legato,_ " the bard spat, voice muffled.

Geralt chuckled. "Your night's not going very smooth, flowing, or connected?" He asked jokingly in an effort to lighten the mood. 

"All of the above," the heap of bed sheets replied miserably. 

Geralt stood from his bed and walked towards Jaskier, slowly pulling the bed sheets down to reveal the upset bard staring up at him with wide, sad eyes.

They stared at each other for a while.

"He was a farmer's son," Jaskier explained finally, sniffling. "The guy I left the bar with. Wonderful man, charming and sweet. I thought he was perfect."

Geralt listened patiently. "And he wasn't?"

Jaskier laughed bitterly, a sound devoid of any amusement. "His _father_ sure didn't think so. Thoroughly upset to find the person his son was eliciting moans from wasn't a _woman_ , see." Jaskier glared at nothing in particular. "Fucking asshole. Threatened to have me choking on his pitchfork if I ever tried ' _corrupting'_ his son again, but the man completely missed the part where his son was choking on my di—"

"Jaskier."

Jaskier laughed. "Sorry. I just...." He sighed and trailed off, the sound heavy on Geralt's heart. 

"It gets to me sometimes," Jaskier admitted, shrinking deeper into his bed sheets. "I try not to let the mean comments on my singing break me down, or the criticism on my sexuality drag me too deep, but it _gets_ to me sometimes."

Geralt nodded. "You're full of love," he reasoned. "It's okay to feel that way." 

Jaskier laughed. "Yeah. Full of love." The bard inhaled deeply and let out a breath, easing himself to his bed and wrapping his body in a cocoon with the sheets. "Too full of love with nowhere to put it. Good night, Geralt."

Geralt stood from Jaskier's bed and walked himself to his own. And he waited. And waited. And waited. Until the sniffling had died down, until the breathing across the room had evened, and until the snoring had begun. He waited. And then he wrote.

> _**le·ga·to**_ / _ləˈɡädō_ /
> 
> _For musical notes to be played in a smooth, flowing, and connected manner._

Geralt drew a flower, better drawn after six months of practice. He drew a buttercup this time, wilted and sad. And for the hell of it, he drew a dandelion, too, just as wilted. And then, he wrote.

> _For a man made of love, for a man made for motion, I will never understand how it pains you to be restricted by the hatred of those around you. I only know that it hurts you, and I only know that it hurts me seeing you in pain. I want to understand better, even if it means getting my heart broken a hundred times. Because if I understand, I might be able to help you more._
> 
> _But you are a man made of love, full of songs unsung, and created to go hand-in-hand with movement. And I will never love enough._

* * *

It had been eleven months, and the book was running out of pages. 

Late nights — and sometimes, early mornings — proved more and more every day that Jaskier had a lot of things to teach Geralt.

And usually, they were little things that Geralt had encountered but never thought much of, like the musical term for "the same tempo" (l'istesso tempo), or what polysyndeton was (a literary technique which used conjunctions repeatedly and in quick succession.) 

But then sometimes, Geralt would come upon a treasure of a word, like "petrichor" (the smell of the earth after the rain), or even "crescendo" (the increase in volume of something), and he'd write something just as beautiful underneath a sketch of a flower. All about Jaskier.

Geralt was not a poet or distinguished author of any land, mind you, but he hoped the writing under each flower depicting his love and thoughts of Jaskier was enough, was good. He hoped his creations did the bard justice. 

Jaskier deserved the world and more, and while Geralt could not provide the love Jaskier's partners could give him, he hoped he could provide some extra. Even if it was in secret. 

Jaskier was a world in motion, a world always moving, always changing, always providing. Jaskier was love incarnate, was the meaning of life, was the source of all good things in existence, and Geralt couldn't hope to have all that.

Creatures full of love should not be bound to beasts who couldn't love as fierce. 

But nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried not to, Geralt loved him. He loved the man in motion, the man with songs in every step, the man with a heart too big for his body. He loved Jaskier.

And he loved him now more than ever as they sat together under a large oak tree, watching the children play in the town square as their mothers yelled after them and their fathers laughed. 

"Have you about how pedestrian this whole scene looks?" Jaskier asked Geralt, a tune playing at his lute from his hands. 

Geralt let out a low hum. "Us? Pedestrian?" He scoffed. 

Jaskier laughed. "Well, no, my dear, we couldn't be pedestrian if we tried. But for now, in this moment." Jaskier shrugged, laying himself down with his lute on his chest, eyes fluttering closed as the sunlight seemed to stream from the cracks of the leaves on the tree to his face. "It's so... ordinary." 

Geralt smiled. "And you like ordinary?" 

Jaskier opened one eye to peer up at the witcher and smirked. "Only in small dosages, my dear. Too much is simply too—" he gestured around in the air "—boring." 

Geralt hummed. "You're made for motion," Geralt said before he could stop himself. 

Jaskier smiled. "Motion. Yes, I like that." Eyes still closed, he let himself pluck at a couple strings on his lute, eliciting a catchy melody, and he hummed in tune. "Motion. Melody. Movement. That's what I am."

Geralt grinned. "And love."

"And love," Jaskier laughed. 

They stayed silent for a while, listening idly to the gleeful screams of the townsfolk children and the scolding exclamations of the townsfolk wives mixed in with the occasional plucking of Jaskier's lute, harmonies everchanging, always being improved upon until the bard was satisfied with the result. 

After a while, Jaskier's lips parted. "Supine," he said. 

"Supine?" Geralt asked. 

"Supine," Jaskier confirmed, lips tilting upwards in a relaxed smile. "It means to lie down facing upwards."

Geralt grinned. That was certainly going to be one of his favorites. Without thinking, he reached into his pack, pulled out the journal, and began to write down the word. 

He was halfway through writing the definition before he froze. 

He'd forgotten to wait. 

Jaskier opened an eye and suddenly he was up, sitting upright and awake, eyes wide with wonder and smiling from ear to ear at the sight of the book. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier exclaimed gleefully, voice laced with pure happiness. "You kept it!"

Geralt shut the book hastily, but the action did nothing to dissuade Jaskier's excitement.

"And you wrote on it too!" Jaskier's laugh was loud and sweet. "A _lot_ , by the look of that creased spine!" He took Geralt's hand in his and pleaded, "Oh, Geralt, _please_ can I read it! Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Geralt's lips thinned to a line. "It's really not that impressi—"

"What have you been writing in there!" Jaskier practically vibrated with excitement. "Have you written about me? Now I'm not saying you _have_ to but I've written like a hundred songs about you, I think I deserve _at least_ one page—"

"Jaskier _—_ "

"How did you hide it from me for so long? Oh, dear gods, is it a diary! No shame in that, by the way, I used to have so many diaries I was running out of space to work, it was a real problem, considering how many people I've loved—"

"Jaskier _—_ "

"My diaries were more like lists of people I've liked, if I'm honest, I mean _seriously,_ I had _so_ many crushes, their names have filled over like ten journals. Oh! Do you have the names of your crushes in there? We could _totally_ exchange crush names! Here, I'll start: Katrina, Josephine, Connor—" 

" _Jaskier_." 

Jaskier slapped a hand over his mouth, still vibrating with energy. "Sorry, I get excited! But _please,_ let me _read—"_

"No." Geralt's voice was firm, but not angry, just enough to get Jaskier to stop insisting, but not enough to stop him from pouting childishly.

"But _why not_?"

And there was no way for Geralt to answer that truthfully or vaguely without having Jaskier press for more information. So Geralt sighed deeply and lied:

"Because it's not finished."

 _It's wasn't a full lie_ , Geralt reasoned with himself. _It wasn't like the book was finished. He just... lied about why he didn't want Jaskier seeing it._

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, dazzling cornflower blue, at Geralt, suspicion clear in the sideways quirk of his lips.

"And you're sure that's the only reason you don't want me reading it?" Jaskier questioned.

"Yes," Geralt lied. 

"So once you fill up the pages," Jaskier continued, "you'll let me read it?"

"Absolutely," Geralt lied. 

"You don't want me reading it _not_ because there's something in there you don't want be to see, butbecause you want to finish it before I can see?" Jaskier pressed.

"That's right," Geralt lied. 

Jaskier took a sharp inhale of breath and asked, "Tell me honestly, my darling dear, you _will_ let me read once you're done, and there's _nothing_ in there you don't want me to see?"

"Yes," Geralt answered, dishonestly. 

Jaskier, satisfied, smiled. "Okay."

The bard lied back down and all was well, and all was calm, and Geralt waited until the night when Jaskier was off in someone else's bed before he wrote, this time, alone again. 

> **_su·pine_** / _ˈso͞oˌpīn_ /
> 
> _To lie down facing upwards._

Geralt sketched a flower, and this time, it was a cornflower, blue as Jaskier's eyes, dizzying and moving and always out looking for new sights. Always moving. And when he was done, he wrote.

> _I am in love with a man made of motion, melody, and movement._

And as an afterthought, Geralt added:

> _And love._

* * *

Twelve months ago, Geralt was told by the man he loved that there was art everywhere around him. He was told there wasn't a soul that was incapable of producing art, and he was given the tools to create art himself. 

But he was now just realizing that art wasn't just limited to paper and pencil, to finger and lute. He was now just realizing what Jaskier had meant when he'd said art was everywhere. 

Geralt grew to appreciate the world around him, growing to see the art in artists who didn't even know they were. He grew to love Jaskier every fiercer, grew to understand that he, a _Witcher_ , was capable of producing _art_.

Geralt grew to be more than he was. 

He grew to appreciate the good in the world, the right in the world, the creations that seemed meaningless but were beautiful nonetheless. 

But even as he found himself seeking the right, everything in this current scene pointed to _wrong._

Geralt was back from a monster hunt that had taken him three days to return from. It simply too dangerous to let Jaskier come with him, and he'd almost hurt himself severely during the hunt. But he had prevailed, as always, killed the beast he was hired to kill, and came back to the Inn he had left Jaskier in. 

But the moment he opened the door to his room and found Jaskier sat very neatly with his legs crossed on the foot of the bed, Geralt felt his instincts flare up. The bard's face was an unnatural apathetic mask, and his body language lacked the calmness of his usual form.

"Jaskier," Geralt breathed, closing the door behind him and letting his eyebrows furrow. "What's going on?"

Jaskier pulled something from behind him, refusing to make eye-contact with the Witcher. Geralt knew what it was before he even saw it.

"I don't think I was meant to read this," Jaskier said, voice barely a whisper. But it was loud and clear among the silence of the room.

There, clasped softly in his hand, was the journal he had given Geralt months before, full of secrets and thoughts and definitions of words the Witcher thought pretty. Full of poetry and prose and sketches of flowers. Full of words not meant to be read. 

Geralt took a sharp intake of breath, turned around, and placed his hand on the doorknob. But before he could even turn it, Jaskier uttered a soft, "Please don't go."

And so, he didn't. 

For a while, neither of them spoke. But Jaskier eventually sighed. "You're mad at me."

"I'm not."

"You aren't?"

"No. I'm upset."

Jaskier's face showed clear signs of shame, if not regret. "Can I explain myself?" He asked, voice frail. 

Geralt hummed. "I'm not stopping you."

"Well, you're not really telling me to go on, either," Jaskier argued, rolling his eyes, light and beautiful blue. "I don't want to make you angrier."

"I'm _not_ angry."

A pause. 

"Okay," Geralt relented. "Explain yourself."

Jaskier inhaled sharply. "Do you remember a week ago? In the charming little down with the happy children and unhappy mothers at the town square?"

Geralt nodded, tense. "Supine," he said in lieu of an answer.

Jaskier smiled softly. "Yes. Well, do you remember when I asked you if there was anything in the book you didn't me to see?" 

Geralt nodded again, tensing up more than he was already, if it had even been possible. The realization of how that event fitted into what was happening now dawned on the Witcher. 

"And I said no," Geralt groaned, running a hand over his face. 

Jaskier laughed nervously. "Yes, well.... Look, I figured, if I was gonna read it _someday_ and there _wasn't_ anything you said you weren't comfortable with me reading...." Jaskier trailed off sheepishly. 

Geralt shut his eyes. "Jaskier, that was _private_."

"You said you were fine if I read it!"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, you sure _implied_ it!" Jaskier groaned into his hands. "Gods, this is mess, I should have left it alo—"

"Okay."

Jaskier removed his hands from his face, peeking at Geralt with a confused look in his eyes. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, you read it," Geralt sighed. "Just... give it back and we can just forget about it and never talk about it again. I'll burn it first thing tomorrow."

Something tragic flitted across Jaskier's eyes as he grabbed the journal and held it protectively against his chest. "What— no! You can't just _destroy_ it!"

Geralt scowled, more confused than angry. "Why not?"

"Because we have to _talk about this_!" Jaskier laughed maniacally, teeth almost bared. "You can't just— Geralt, _you_ are driving me _mad_."

"We don't have to talk about anything, Jaskier. You read something that was private to me—"

"I didn't know!"

"—and now you have to live with the fact that I don't want to talk about it."

Jaskier laughed humorlessly, standing up abruptly from his place on the bed and marching to Geralt, holding himself tall and angry with the journal clasped tights on his hand. 

"I have to _live with the—_ This is a _punishment_?" Jaskier stabbed an accusatory finger to Geralt's chest, making the Witcher cringe. "Geralt, you _cannot_ _punish me_ with _terrible communication_. I did a _bad_ thing, but we _have to talk._ "

Geralt scoffed. He turned his back on the bard and put his hand on the doorknob, but before he could even turn the knob, Jaskier's voice stopped him, clear, calm, and collected, with the underlining of a storm under his words. 

"A man made of _motion, melodies, movement, and love_ , Geralt." He didn't turn around, but he heard Jaskier's deep intake of air. "You worry you won't love me enough? Love me _now_."

Geralt let his hand drop from the doorknob. 

" _Talk_ to me, Geralt."

The desperation in Jaskier's voice was enough to convince the Witcher. He turned, let golden eyes meet blue, and nodded tersely. "Okay."

Jaskier let out a breath of relief, calming down and nodding. "Okay."

Jaskier extended his open arm and after Geralt reluctantly took it, the bard lead the Witcher to the foot of the bed, sitting both of them down. 

"Jaskier," Geralt began, "we don't have to _—_ "

Jaskier cut him off with a stare. "Yes, we do, Geralt"

Geralt could do nothing but sigh. "I'm... sorry."

Something softened in the bard's eyes, something sweet and loving and compassionate and nice. Jaskier's shoulders eased. It promised warmth, a safe space where Geralt could build a home in, a traveling companion who would be there through thick and thin. Love. 

"Why are you apologizing?" Jaskier sighed, soft and simple. "I'm the one who read it. Even if you said you were going to let me, I... I should have waited until you were ready. It was my mistake, and Geralt, I don't often say this, but I...." Jaskier paused, breathed in deep like he was bracing himself, and shook his head. "I apologize, Geralt."

To say Geralt was taken aback would be an understatement. The reaction Jaskier had to the situation was certainly sincere, but it was odd for the Witcher, having someone apologize to him for once, having someone admit something they did wrong in such a genuine way.

Geralt blinked blankly, not responding, and Jaskier grinned shyly up at him. "I thought we agreed to talk," Jaskier teased lightheartedly, eliciting what almost seemed like a smile from Geralt.

Geralt shook his head. "Just... surprised," he reassured. "Because it was my fault, and yet, you're the one apologizing."

Jaskier arched an eyebrow. "Your fault? You wrote down your feelings, just as I advised, and I invaded your privacy. How would it be your fault, Geralt? I, of all people, should know to leave an artist's art to themselves unless they wish to reveal it." 

Geralt blinked. Why _was_ he apologizing? He stared down at Jaskier's dazzling blue eyes and felt his heart tug on his chest. _Oh, right. That was why_. 

"Because I felt," Geralt answered, voice deep but softer than usual. 

Jaskier opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Geralt cut him off. "Let me finish." And after a beat, he added, "Please."

Jaskier promptly shut his mouth.

Geralt continued. 

"I apologize for loving you," he sighed. "I understand a Witcher's heart is small, and I know my love will never compare to that of a your usual slew of lovers. And I will never be enough. I know that, and I've tried to stop, but."

Geralt groaned at all the words flowing around in his head, all too many, and all too wrong. He tried his best to string the nicest options together to form a sentence he hoped wasn't that bad. 

"But you're a man made of motion and melodies and movement and _love,_ and I can't resist that. I can't resist loving you."

Geralt paused. He thought of what to say before he spoke them aloud.

"I am sorry for loving you," he apologized, sincerely, tragically, genuinely. "I'm sorry for loving you without knowing how."

Silence. 

There was nothing but silence, and it was deafening.

The ringing of the quiet getting steadily louder until— 

" _Geralt_." Jaskier uttered the name like it was his lifeline, the one thing connecting him to life. He uttered the name passionately, with adoration, and _so much love_ that Geralt questioned himself over what he could have done to deserve such a wonderful tone. " _Geralt_."

Geralt stared at Jaskier's eyes and found himself lost, following only the bard's silky and rich voice to salvation. 

"Geralt, you wrote a fucking _dictionary_ for me." 

And suddenly, Jaskier was laughing, a sound so beautiful it belonged in Melitele's court. Geralt could drown in that laugh. And by the way he held his breath, Geralt guessed he just might.

The bard snorted. "The most romantic gesture I get from another person when I take them home from bars is _lighting candles_." He threw back his head and laughed again. "My dear, you underestimate yourself."

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows. "I do?"

" _Yes_!" Jaskier's voice was breathy and full of raw emotion. " _Gods_ , yes! _How_ many _words_ have you _written_ in this thing? _How_ many _days_ have you listened to me talk about the most _meaningless_ things and _memorized_ my definitions?" Jaskier guffawed at the sheer thought. 

"So much effort poured into listening to me speak and twice as much coming up with the perfect drawing and poetry and prose to fit your emotions?" Jaskier smiled. "Geralt, you've shown me more love on paper than anyone else has given me physically."

Geralt didn't know how to respond to that.

He sat there, dumbfounded. Had he been doing that all this time? Had all the pages in his journal just been testaments of his love for Jaskier? Had he really... was he really, _actually_ capable of that? Capable of loving the man made of love _enough_ to _satisfy_ him?

Geralt didn't know how to reply. So he didn't. He stayed silent, and Jaskier continued. 

"You say your love isn't enough?" Jaskier scoffed. "Of the hundreds of lovers I've had, your romance is a _mountain_ among anthills, Geralt." Jaskier fixed him with a stare, eyes full of longing and adoration. "And _I love you for that_. Geralt, _I love you_."

And suddenly, they were there, as close to each other as can possibly be without touching lips. Jaskier raised his hands, letting go of the journal, and laid one palm softly on Geralt's cheek as he let the other one thread itself through Geralt's hair and to the back of his head. 

Their faces were a breath away when Jaskier whispered, " _Can I kiss you?_ "

Geralt nodded. " _Yes._ "

And so they kissed, soft lips pressing together softer, breaths intermingling, heartbeats beating fast with adrenaline and excitement and _bliss_. Geralt placed his hand up to Jaskier's hair, feeling the softness in his fingers, feeling the pulse on Jaskier's neck as his hands dropped, feeling warmth and movement and _love._

The kiss was gentle, and Geralt felt it was a tether to life, but no matter how badly he wished for it to never stop, they eventually had to pull away, gasping for air and faces flushed. 

Geralt found it bittersweet how the one thing that made him feel most alive could never last more than a couple moments. But he treasured it nonetheless.

When Jaskier had caught his breath, he smiled dopily at Geralt. 

"I love you," Jaskier declared, voice breathless and as beautiful as it had always been.

Geralt smiled. Jaskier was art, was love, was life itself. Jaskier was the man made of love who _loved him back_.

Geralt closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to Jaskier's, and whispered, " _I love you_."

**Author's Note:**

> fzggsx yEAH THAT'S IT
> 
> kinda proud of this one tbh 👉👈 like sfzgss i think i nailed it lmao and yesyes i have thoughts to say!! 
> 
> im very into the whole angry boys get angry at each other and make out afterwards thing but i wanted to try something else its called angry boys get upset at each other and talk it out and then cutely ask each other for consent to make out fzgsggz
> 
> it came out kinda cute kinda funky kinda fresh and im really proud of it i really like this one szfgsz the witcher fandom better watch out bc i did not hesitate to lose sleep over this fic and i will not hesitate to lose more sgxgsx
> 
> nothing much else to say im proud of it i love the little "can i kiss u" thing bc as much as i love the passion in surprise makeouts im a fool for romance and the first kiss is something i like being soft at sorry im a soft girl guys 😔😔 
> 
> uhh idk what else tbh sgzgsz  
> if u enjoyed it, please leave a kudos and comment it helps a lot 👉👈 and uh if u want u can follow me on tumblr im @skittlesun 😌🌼 ALSO please follow my witcher sideblog @yenneferal it would be appreciated hFXGZGZ im trying to gain followers there since i dont really post in my main
> 
> thank you very much for reading i love u and have a wonderful rest of ur day ily  
> -alyssa


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